


ashtray

by cowjuggie



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mommy Issues, Protective Eliot Waugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 10:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowjuggie/pseuds/cowjuggie
Summary: Quentin breaks a glass, and Eliot finds out about his mommy issues





	ashtray

Eliot can hear it. It’s a familiar noise, seeing that he’s heard it often enough to not mistake it for anything else. Quentin is crying. He isn’t crying right next to Eliot, no, it’s one in the morning. He’s crying in his room, down the hall from Eliot’s. That is how loud he is crying. Eliot tries to ignore it; he really does, but he can’t think of anything else.

It’s a panicked cry. Like Quentin is trying to focus on breathing and crying all the same. Eliot gets up, pulling a silk robe nearest to him over his shoulders. He sighs, and before he can stop himself, he’s standing at Quentin’s door. The noise seems to become softer, trained. It’s almost like Quentin knows when someone is walking by, knows when to be quiet.

“Q…” Eliot says in a tone, much like a concerned mother’s.

“I’m, uh, um. I’m fine.” Quentin speaks up, his voice wavering, breaking. Eliot opens the door a crack, peaking in.

“I know you aren’t, Quentin.” Eliot whispers, and Quentin scurries up against the headboard, pulling the comforter close to his chest. 

“I’m fine, Eliot.” He says harshly. “Leave me alone.” 

“Q.” Eliot says again. He pushes the door open then, stepping in and closing it behind him.

“You just don’t like the word no, do you?” Quentin laughs, and Eliot gives a soft look into the darkness, hoping Quentin catches it.

“I don’t like you crying, Coldwater.” He corrects, and Quentin goes quiet. Eliot is good at finding his way around a dark bedroom, and soon he’s sitting next to Quentin on the bed. Quentin only curls closer into himself.

“I’m n-not crying.” He whispers, but the frantic wiping of his face tells Eliot something different. “I was just-”

“Don’t even try that excuse with me.” Eliot scoffs. “I know what you sound like.” He adds, and Quentin turns a soft red that Eliot can’t see. Quentin wishes Eliot could go one day without mentioning that night fogged with emotion magic.

“Okay, um, I, uh…” Quentin pushes his hair behind his ears. “I was crying. Just don’t worry about it, okay?” He breathes, and Eliot leans into him. Quentin appreciates the warmth.

“Why?” Eliot waves his hand dismissively. “Why were you crying?” 

“I, uhm.” Quentin looks at Eliot then. He looks absolutely pathetic. “I broke one of your glasses?” He phrases it as a question, or like he’s about to be hit. Eliot just nods slowly, placing a hand on Quentin’s which is now shaking. 

“And-”

“And, uhm.” He takes a minute, and Eliot lets him. “Margo yelled at me?” A question again. “Called me worthless and stuff-” He goes to defend her immediately. “But she was just mad! She didn’t mean any of it.”  
“Then why are you crying?” Eliot asks, and Quentin laughs.

“My...mom.” He looks at Eliot again. “I broke an ashtray once, and ever since all she could fucking do was tell me how I broke everything.” He’s speaking clearly now. “I’m sorry, I-”

“No.” Eliot says, using that tone again. Quentin listens. “It’s okay. Bambi doesn’t exactly understand mommy issues.”  
“She didn’t know about that, and I shouldn’t be crying-”

“I’ll talk to Bambi, okay?” Eliot pats his thigh. “She should know better.” He says more to himself. Margo had always been that way to everyone she met, but Quentin wasn’t everyone. Not to Eliot anyway.

“I’m sorry I, uh, woke you up.” Quentin mumbles, and Eliot swats the idea away.

“I was never asleep.” He smiles, and Quentin smiles back. 

“Seriously.” He adds. “Don’t let Bambi talk to you like you’re another one of her slabs of meat.” He says more bitter than he intended. Quentin leans in on Eliot, hiding away in his neck. Eliot does something he never found himself doing until another timeline.

He holds Quentin’s hand. He watches his thumb run over Quentin’s knuckles, and when Quentin’s grip finally loosens, Eliot knows he’s fallen asleep.

He pulls Quentin close to him like a small child, and he adjusts them to where they’re in a more comfortable position. Eliot sighs, holding Quentin as closely as he physically can.

“Oh, Q.” He whispers. “We’ve ruined you.”


End file.
